


Untitled ST: AOS trick or treat fill

by esme_green



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-02
Updated: 2010-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-28 18:03:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esme_green/pseuds/esme_green
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For izzyfics who requested <i>Kirk/McCoy/Chapel costume shenanigans ("how the hell did you end up with blue hearts on your ass?")</i>.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Untitled ST: AOS trick or treat fill

**Author's Note:**

> For izzyfics who requested _Kirk/McCoy/Chapel costume shenanigans ("how the hell did you end up with blue hearts on your ass?")_.

The Percalians were a pack society. Apparently, so the briefing from Starfleet Command read, there was a more intimate relationship between pack members than a word like "clan" or "tribe" would imply.

This became even more apparent when the landing party--consisting only of Kirk, McCoy, and Chapel because Spock was manning the bridge and Uhura had probably known in advance what the Percalian mission entailed--were shown to the luxurious quarters assigned to them for the duration of the festival.

No walls. No screens. A large sleeping area sunk into a raised dais, where no doubt eight Percalians would all pile together to sleep. Every corner of the room was visible from every other corner.

Normal people, like Chapel, would say, "Oh" upon realizing that there was no hint of privacy for *any* reason.

Other people would say, eagerly, "Wow!" which might, in turn, make normal people blush.

But it was already time for the exchange of historical anecdotes, a ceremony which was part of the intricate greeting protocol Percalians used when strange packs encountered each other for the first time, a protocol which had evolved over millennia into a byzantine order of--

Oh hell. It was a costume party.

******

The Captain, of course, stole the show, spinning tales of the youngest American sea captain ever, who at twenty-four staged a night raid on the Barbary Coast, burning a captured ship to the ground.

The Percalians were very impressed.

While Kirk was somehow making his character's senseless death seem like the stuff of legend, Chapel sighed. Quietly.

McCoy leaned over. "Our part is done," he murmured. "Let's leave and get rid of these stupid clothes."

Kirk was attracting the touchy-feely Percalians like honey for bees. Chapel watched for a few more moments as they stroked his hands, his skin, his hair, and then agreed. She and McCoy were definitely not the centre of attention anymore.

It was only as they entered their assigned room again that Chapel saw the ridiculously large sleeping platform, realized they probably had the night to themselves, and blushed.

McCoy came to stand beside her and they stared at it together.

"Well," he said.

"Well," she echoed.

"It would be a shame--"

"I'm not sure--"

They both broke off with a self-conscious laugh.

Chapel tried to force the words out. "It's just, we've never...done this--"

"--without Jim," McCoy finished, just as Christine said, "--sober."

Their laughter was genuine this time.

"What d'you reckon?" McCoy asked a moment later.

"Yes," Christine said, almost before she'd realized what she was saying. "Yes."

McCoy's smile deepened as he pulled her into his arms. "Let's take this slow, then, shall we?" he murmured.

Christine shivered. "Yes." She went up on tiptoe and kissed him, winding an arm around his neck. Her other hand found the corner of his costume where it fastened over his shoulder and slid it off.

The whole thing fell to the ground, leaving him completely naked.

They broke apart laughing again.

"I'm so sorry!" she said. "I didn't think--"

"It's a toga," he said. "Where else would it--"

"Sorry," she repeated. "I thought maybe it wrapped, or--"

Shaking his head, he scooped her up and climbed onto the sleeping platform, laying her down in the middle of it. "Just for that," he said, sliding his naked length down beside her, "I'm going to undo every button of that ridiculous getup with my teeth."

"Ohgod," she muttered. Nineteenth-century Victorian women wore a lot of buttons. Stupid historical accuracy.

McCoy was apparently in no hurry, either, so it took a while. It was when he stuck his head under her skirt, crawling up until he could grasp the top edge of her stocking in his teeth, that she actually threatened to recite her presentation on statistical graphics.

His answer was non-verbal, shockingly pleasurable, and incredibly torturous, since he abandoned it quickly in favour of said stocking again.

Christine had learned her lesson, though. And when he finally, finally pulled the last of her clothing free of her, exposing her breasts to the air, it was worth every bit of restraint.

McCoy sat up to push all her clothes off the platform, and Christine took that opportunity to get revenge. She started at his feet.

He started at hers.

They both worked their way up slowly.

Eventually they realigned themselves, legs entwined, McCoy sliding up into her as they rolled together.

And then the real meaning of "slow" became understood.

They clung together as their bodies moved, kissing deep, languid, liquid, sometimes with her on top, sometimes him, sometimes neither.

When they finally moved to the last act, Christine was so entranced by the look on Leonard's face that she couldn't stop gazing at him, just as he was watching her. She kept her eyes open as she reached her peak, just before he reached his, and what she saw rocked her to her core, even as she cried out his name as her body shuddered around his.

He did the same, his eyes never leaving hers.

And they kissed again, slow and deep.

This was dangerous, Chapel thought, caught in the depths of Leonard's gaze. This didn't feel like burning off energy with a colleague, it felt like more, like they could be compromising a--

"You started without me!" Kirk bounded up onto the bed, only half dressed and effectively shattering the mood.

Leonard's arms tightened around her possessively for a moment, then let her go, though he rolled and spooned up behind her, his warmth against her back. "Listen, kid, the way you were carrying on with the Percalians, we didn't think you'd be back tonight."

"Did you see this bed? Of course I was coming back. Besides, you of all people should know the Percalians don't have compatible genitalia."

"That's never stopped you before," McCoy said darkly.

Christine giggled. She couldn't help it.

Kirk rewarded her with a grin and slid down on the bed so that he laid facing her. "You're not too tired, are you?" he asked. "Bones can be a handful, but you're young and strong and healthy--"

Her giggle turned to a full-throated laugh even as McCoy said, "Jim, for god's sake--"

"Hey!" Jim had already moved on and was now stripping off the remainder of his clothing. "See what the Percalians *did* do, while we were discussing Decatur."

McCoy grunted. "How the hell did you end up with blue hearts on your ass?"

"Hearts?" Jim craned his neck, trying to see. "No, no, no, I told them stars, not hearts, white, on blue background..."

"Looks like they did blue hearts on a, uh, white background." McCoy's voice was suspiciously even and Christine tried not to snicker.

"This is an honour, Captain," she put in. "Distinctive pack markings represent a major Percalian--"

"I don't suppose there are red stripes anywhere?" he asked mournfully, giving up trying to stare at his own ass.

"I can tan your hide for you anytime, kid," said McCoy.

"Promise?" Kirk grinned, leaned over Christine, and kissed McCoy hard.

Sandwiched between them, Christine could feel Jim's length pressing against her and wondered how long he'd been watching before he interrupted them. Behind her, Leonard, while not fully roused, was already stirring with interest again.

Well.

Jim nudged her entrance, asking tacit permission which she gave with the slightest tilt of her hips, and then he was inside her, thrusting while he continued kissing McCoy.

"Damn it, Jim," McCoy said as they came up for air, his hand snaking up to fondle Christine's breast.

She was unable to stop her whimper of pleasure.

 

 

END

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Chapel was, of course, Florence Nightingale, and when it was her turn, she told the Percalians about her pioneering work with statistical graphics. McCoy got a bit more reaction as Galen, though the southern drawl in his speech as he outlined the ancient Greek doctor's accomplishments was highly incongruous. Kirk finished as Stephen Decatur, who commanded a ship in the US Navy at the age of 24 and died at 41 in a duel after criticizing a senior officer's unpreparedness for battle.


End file.
